


The Art of Giving

by Bunnywest



Series: Rabbit verse [20]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 12:05:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11691267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywest/pseuds/Bunnywest
Summary: Not all the gifts in the Stilinski-Hale household are properties.





	The Art of Giving

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jilrene](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jilrene/gifts).



> For Jilrene, who correctly guessed which story in Wolves was true of my own kids, and wanted something fluffy that showed how close the boys are.  
> Hope you like it, sweetheart.

Stiles never thought he’d marry. He never ever thought he’d marry what he considers the sexiest werewolf on the face of the earth. And so every day when he wakes up and sees Peter next to him, face creased from sleep and hair messy and soft, he thinks he’s the luckiest man alive.

And sometimes, he likes to show it.

He knows that Peter knows how he feels, because their mating bond constantly thrums with desire and contentment and affection, but still.

He likes to do nice thing sometimes.

 

* * *

 

 

Peter comes home from a meeting with Ami at the hotel, where they’ve been going over tax records, and finds the door unlocked. He’s surprised, because he thought Stiles was at work.

He opens the door to find soft music playing, and the lights dimmed.

There’s a trail of rose petals scattered through the house, leading to the bedroom.

He smiles to himself.

He sets down his briefcase and follows the trail of flowers. The bedroom door is closed, with a small sign on it.

“Please remove all clothing before entering”.

OK then, he thinks.

He does love unexpected afternoon sex.

He obediently strips, and knocks on the door. ‘Stiles?”

Stiles opens the door. He’s shirtless, and he looks mouthwateringly good. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of soft yoga pants that hang low on his hips.

Peter leans in for a kiss. Stiles kisses him back, pulling him closer and rubbing his hands over his shoulders. He pulls back then, and sighs.

“Get on the bed, face down” he commands Peter.

Peter arches a brow at him.

“You’ve been doing tax stuff. I knew you’d be tense, so I’m going to relax you” Stiles says, and holds up a bottle of massage oil. He pushes Peter down on the bed and Peter goes willingly.

He feels Stiles settle behind him, straddling him, and then his hands start to move gently up and down his back in long, firm strokes, warming the muscles. Peter can’t help but groan as he feels the stretch and pull on his spine.

Stiles goes to work on his lower back, pushing into the pressure points above his hips, and Stiles has muscles to spare, and he doesn’t stop pressing down until he feels the tight spots relax under his thumbs, and Peter might let out a small squeak at the intensity of his touch, but damn it feels good when the muscles let go.

From there Stiles works his way up, relentlessly massaging out knots that Peter didn’t even know he had, and after he’s worked out all the kinks and cricks, he starts at his neck and works his way down again, but this time it’s gentler, slower, relaxing, and when Peter wakes up two hours later there’s a little puddle of drool on the pillow, and Stiles is still gently running his hands up and down his back.

“Welcome back” he whispers.

Peter opens his other eye, and slurs out “ Amazing. Where’d you learn that?” because Stiles has massaged him before, but not like _this_.

‘Took a course, thought you’d like it” Stiles says casually, like he hasn't spent ten weeks learning to do this, and like he’s not as pleased as punch at Peter’s reaction.

“You spoil me, rabbit” Peter yawns out, and goes back to sleep.

* * *

 

 

And sometimes, when Peter’s worked a shift at the bar, he’ll find Stiles outside leaning against his car waiting for him when he finishes, and he’ll be holding an iced tea for him, because he knows that after a noisy night Peter likes to sit and drink something refreshing, and then he’ll drive them out to a secluded spot, and he’ll drag a blanket out, and they’ll lay there looking at the night sky and relishing the quiet.

Sometimes, if he’s feeling adventurous, he’ll pull out a second blanket and throw it over Peter, before ducking beneath it and doing wicked, wicked things with his hands and tongue and mouth, making Peter pant and groan into the quiet night air.

Peter loves it.

_________________________________________

Stiles deals with words for a living, writing and literature excite him like nothing else.

And he’s a creative soul at heart.

So he makes Peter an audiobook of love poetry, reading it in hushed tones and filling it with well placed pauses.

It’s sexy as hell.

Peter listens to it constantly, reveling in hearing Stiles husk out phrases like

  
_I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,_  
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.  
  
I love you as the plant that never blooms  
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;  
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,  
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

Hearing the words being read in Stiles’ most seductive tones drives him wild, and by the time he gets home it’s not uncommon for him to stride through the front door calling “Stiles! You and your damned poetry!”

And Stiles, who knows exactly what that phrase means for him, will appear and ask coyly “Something you wanted husband?’ and then laugh delightedly when Peter bends him over whatever flat surface is closest and fucks him passionately.

It’s now they ended up having to replace their benchtop.

_______________________________________________________________

It goes both ways, of course.

Peter’s had to learn that bigger isn’t better where Stiles is concerned, and he’s taken to heart their discussion about not buying property. So he scales his generosity back to a more restrained level.

Restrained for Peter, anyway.

He takes Stiles hot air ballooning for their first wedding anniversary.

In Paris.

Stiles isn’t even mad, because he’s too busy being impressed that Peter remembered him mentioning once that he’d love to try it.

They don’t see much of the last half of the flight though, because they’re making out, and when they land it’s with a sigh of relief that their operator watches them go. They’d come dangerously close to joining the mile high club while in a wicker basket.

______________________________________

He buys Stiles premium seats when there’s a Michael Buble concert, of course. And then he makes a few phone calls, and pulls a few strings, and makes a donation to a children’s cancer charity, and after the show a very nice if very muscular man flanks them as they go back stage and meet the man himself.

Stiles is for once in his life speechless, stammering and stuttering, and just saying “oh my god, oh my god, this isn’t real” as Peter and Michael throw amused glances his way.

“Many thanks, Michael” Peter murmurs quietly.

“My pleasure, Alpha Hale” replies Michael Buble in a tone too low for human ears to hear, and his eyes flash gold just for a moment.

Stiles stares, open mouthed.

Michael smiles at him toothily.

“Do you remember, rabbit, when I became Alpha, and I told you the pack I inherited was two accountants and a piano player?” Peter asks Stiles.

“Vaguely, why?”

“Maybe piano player wasn’t a completely accurate description“ Peter says, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Stiles catches on quickly.

“Damn, no wonder you look so young!” he breathes out.

After a few more pleasantries where Stiles manages to actually speak, and profess his undying love for every song Michael’s ever released ever, they head back to their hotel for the night.

They don’t sleep.

* * *

 

Stiles’ favorite present, though, is one that costs Peter hardly a cent.

He makes a beautifully hand crafted wooden plaque, to hang at the front door.

It doesn’t say _Casa de Stillinski-Hale_.

It doesn’t say ‘ _Home Sweet Home"_

As tempted as he was, it doesn’t say _“Two gay werewolves live here, if that’s a problem please fuck off”._

It’s a picture of a wolf curled around a rabbit, the same as Stiles has on his shoulder tattoo. Underneath, it simply says “ _Pack House”._

And under that, in tiny tiny writing, it says _“Alpha – Peter. Wolf in charge – Stiles”_

When Stiles first saw it, he laughed until tears ran down his face.


End file.
